The Illustrious Quatre Winner
by hostilecrayon
Summary: Slice of life. Quatre's on a diet. 3 equals 4, 1 equals 2.


For **ravensilver** as she toughs out her diet! *Cheers*

Don't feel bad - I've been craving a FEW foods I can't afford to get. . Pizza is totally one of them, and it seems to be talked about or photographed EVERYWHERE. .;;

PG I guess. (Innocently?) evil Duo? XD 3=4, 1=2 and (absent) Wufei with a hate for wheatgrass. XD

**The Illustrious Quatre Winner**

Quatre pinched the bridge of his nose as Duo devoured the pizza in front of him like a starving hyena. It was only for a few weeks. He could do this. His lover glanced sidelong at him in sympathy.

Quatre Winner was one of the richest men both dirt side and amongst the stars, which meant that if he wanted it, there was a damn good chance he could get it. The war had proved him to be more than that, however, as clearly, when Quatre wanted something, he wasn't afraid to put his life on the line and get his hands dirty. It had won him a fair amount of respect from a good portion of the Earth Sphere.

The problem? That meant he had to pose for pictures constantly. And though he was still fairly slender despite growing damn near a foot and filling in his teenage muscles with more distinguished ones, even the illustrious Winner felt the need to diet sometimes.

He only wanted to loosen the waistband on his pants - rich or not, buying a whole new wardrobe was terribly wasteful (though Duo could name a good 20 things he found more wasteful Quatre had done over the years just off the top of his head and still have room to spare).

Trowa, the ever observant one, was abstaining from most of the foods that Quatre was, with the exception of his occasional beer. Tonight, however, he didn't dare, as Maxwell was more than taunting his adorably stressed lover enough as it was.

Even Heero had noticed Quatre's rather limp salad and at least refrained from stuffing his face like he'd been locked in an Oz cell without food for a month.

Wufei was tactfully absent, as he always seemed to find other hobbies during one of Quatre's diets. Especially since last time, Quatre, with some help from Trowa, coaxed him into drinking something called 'Wheatgrass'. He'd been curiously scarce since.

"Duo," Heero intoned quietly, nudging his indulging boyfriend in the stomach. "If you eat much more, this place is going to go out of business."

"S'rry 'Ro," he mumbled around food, "I'as f'mish'd!"

Quatre raised an eyebrow, and Heero translated. "He thinks he was famished. Despite breakfast."

"'ey, I r's'nt 'at!" He swallowed, finally, and took a swig of his soda. "Ah, that hit the spot. So anyway, if you would have been on the mission today, you'd understand! Scaling walls is hard work!"

Quatre listened politely, but his mouth watered, the pizza aroma wafting in his direction even more as Duo began his exaggerated hand motions to tell them all about it.

As the night dragged on, Duo eventually caught Quatre's longing gaze and held up an oozing piece of his absolute favorite... Quatre shook himself internally. He had been a Gundam Pilot and he was still a world class business man. He could use his tactical skills to infiltrate the White House if he wanted to, and it would go off without a hitch. But this pizza... "I'm sorry, buddy. I'm being rude. Did you want a piece?"

Quatre's hand twitched, and Trowa reached under the table to squeeze his leg reassuringly.

It took everything in him to shake his head no. Heero managed to look chagrined for his partner's actions, and Quatre excused himself for the bathroom. Trowa followed.

"It's just a pizza! Can't I beat a stupid pizza? It's like it's some sort of drug or something! I've never cared about food so much..."

He was rambling the moment the door closed, and while he didn't care, his lover thought to put an end to it with a strong kiss. Several moments went by in breathy silence until Quatre was much more relaxed.

"You're only concerned with it because you're focused on not having it, love."

"I know," he said, sinking into his lover's embrace.

Trowa pulled back, his green eye searching Quatre's face. "Do you want to leave?"

A sigh. "Yes, but it would be rude."

"So?"

Quatre chuckled for him. "Soon. After I finish my salad. And when we get home," he purred, "I plan to have my dessert."

Trowa chuckled, a throaty sound, and kissed his partner thoroughly. "Are you sure you don't want to leave now?"

If either of their table mates knew why their clothes weren't quite in order and why they were wearing twin smirks when they returned, they didn't mention it. And the illustrious Quatre Winner managed to defeat food after all, with several healthy helpings of dessert.


End file.
